Thursday, June 10, 2010

I think the poem below is really wonderful:

Eden Tiresias

by Brian Teare Brian Teare

[apocalypsis—L. to uncover, disclose]

i. “I am the sign of the Letter, / . . .”No seed. Flat beneath my hand:bone. Pelvis a field, but no seed.Because there was no punishmentlike fucking, its whip burnedAdam and nothing after. Becauseshine took flight like two parrotsso deep green they seemed black.And though the field tilted and splitforth meant two ways, thoughfar into the garden meant I lostlove, even a god could honor that.“Cell by cell unsexed, I will light thefemale,” said the snake, and what wasI was lost. What was shine fell;a shed skin white as water falling.Wisdom, when did it descendweeping into each thing? I sawtoo much to know who I was:asleep in each molecule, chaos’senergy. I couldn’t speak of thischange, how apocalypse oncegave tongue to each new skinbetween my legs, twin parishioners,bent prayer books inside me. Dominuswas Eden in me, and the Treethe world had imagined, except:interior, what asked for a mindto hew with wounds. Except memory:jibe, jilt, jest. What was real diedas its own elegy, as Adam did not.

ii. “. . . and the designation of the division.”Mons: venus-field held horizon by sharpfuckless months, field lain fallow. I lost him.I did not love. Because bitterness lit mestrung tongue to gut. Because god lovedthe way the snake shook shine into the tree,leavening air with matte magnolia leaves.My mouth opened to ask the snake’s name.Like his tongue from which each word wenteach way the meaning bent—leading methe way back—, I never doubted what I didn’tchange down to the syllable, molecule,shift between dahlia and dalliance, male towoman, behold, becoming her, became me.The tree wept cheap greenery; the snake leftwhat was knowledge, what was the givenmatter: until Adam found me again, I putweeping even inside myself: I knewI could not explain I saw the end of thingsstatic in anxious limitless rage. It was male,and yet Adam found me the way languagemeant to uncover: gladly he lent his mouth,his hands, husband one, and one lover,here the church, here the steeple: knuckles knelt,o Deus, I remember: Self and Other,and between us every elegy, all the fallenlanguage that couldn’t hold its ownand wouldn’t give it back, had no fleshexcept how long dust keeps our alphabets.It came alive outside the mind, intellect.I loved it. He could not touch me there.

iii. “I am the sign of the Letter, and the designation of the division.”No seed. Flat beneath my hand: mons: venus-field held horizon by sharpbone. Pelvis a valley but no seed: fuckless months, field lain fallow. I lost himbecause there was no punishment I did not love. Because bitterness lit melike fucking, its wicked burn strung tongue to gut. Because god lovedAdam and nothing after. Because the way the snake shook shine into the tree,the shine took flight like two parrots, leavening air with matte magnolia leavesso deep green they seemed black. My mouth opened to ask the snake’s name;and though the field tilted and split like his tongue from which each word wentforth meant two ways, though each way the meaning bent—leading mefar into the garden—meant I lost the way back, I never doubted what I didn’tlove, even a god could honor that. “Change down to the syllable, molecule,cell by cell unsexed, I will light the shifts between dahlia and dalliance, male-to-female,” said the snake, and what was woman, behold, becoming her, became me.“I” was lost. What was shine fell; the tree wept cheap greenery; the snake lefta shed skin white as water falling. What was knowledge, what was the givenwisdom, when did it descend into matter: until Adam again found me, I putweeping inside each thing I saw. Weeping even inside myself: I knewtoo much to know who I was; I could not explain I saw the end of thingsasleep in each molecule, chaos static in anxious limitless rage. It was maleenergy. I couldn’t speak of this and yet Adam found me the way languagechanged, how apocalypse once meant to uncover: gladly he lent his mouth,gave tongue to each new skin. His hands, husband one, and one lover,between my legs, twin parishioners, here the church, here the steeple: knuckles kneltbent prayer books inside me, Dominus, o Deus, I remember: Self and Otherwas Eden in me and the Tree between us every elegy, all the fallsthe world had imagined except language, what couldn’t hold its owninterior, what asked for a mind and wouldn’t give it back, had no fleshto hew with wounds, no memory except how long dust keeps our alphabets.Jibe, jilt, jest: what was real died as it came alive outside the mind, intellectits own elegy, and Adam did not love it. He could not touch me there.